


what good is living if you can’t write your ending?

by MANIAvinyl



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, It sounds rough but I did my best to keep it neutral and realistic, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Other, Panic Attacks, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Angst, Peter Parker Feels, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Has Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Has a Family, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective May Parker (Spider-Man), Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, mental health, panic disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 04:17:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17676311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MANIAvinyl/pseuds/MANIAvinyl
Summary: Tony had never once thought about what this kind of life could do to a kid. In hindsight he realizes how obvious it was, how careless he was. He should’ve known.When Peter Parker has what Tony recognizes as a severe panic attack, they both feel their worlds start to crumble.(Set somewhere between Homecoming and Infinity War)





	what good is living if you can’t write your ending?

**Author's Note:**

> Song of the day: “The Last Great Washington State” by Damien Jurado
> 
> Thank u for reading and please enjoy! I did my best to keep everything as realistic as possible, and I hope that shows up.

“Okay, kid,” Tony said, configuring controls in the hologram in front of him. “How’s that one?”

Peter studied his hand, covered in the iron spider-suit, and then flexed it out on front of him. The webbing shot out of the heel of his palm, hitting dead-center at the target on the concrete wall. 

“Woah,” Peter said. “Powerful.”

Tony nodded, sliding another control towards full capacity. They were testing new algorithms for Peter’s web-shooters up at the compound’s courtyard.

“Try this one.”

Peter shot it again, but this time the webbing hit just outside of the target.

“Do it again,” said Tony. 

He did, but this time no webbing shot out.

Tony scowled. “What the hell was that?”

“What? I shot it the same!”

“No, not you. Damn recoilers are misfiring.” He grimaced. “Come here.”

Peter did, and he held out his hand so Tony could examine the shooter. It was tiny— Peter had to guess the entire machine was no wider than a quarter. 

“How are you even trying to see what’s in there?” he asked Tony, squinting. “I can hardly see anything.”

“Yeah, I just know what to look for. Set your hand on the table, would ya?”

Peter did, and Tony took out a tiny set of tweezers. He flipped the sharp tool in the air, and Peter drew his arm back.

“What are you doing?” he asked skeptically.

“Nothing. I’m not about to dissect your palm, I just need to see the cylinders in the glove.”

“Right.” Peter rolled his eyes. 

Tony smiled, that amused half-smile, and flipped open the tiny machine on Peter’s hand. 

Peter watched as Tony examined the tiny metal cylinders and rotors for a minute before prodding something in there, then sealed the cover again. He stepped back, glancing up at the target.

He sighed, messing with the controls again, and then glanced over at Peter. “Try it now.”

Peter flexed his palm again, and another string of webbing shot out and landed among the many others in the center circle. 

“That’s better,” Tony said.

But when Peter went to bring his arm back down, everything was stiff.

He tried to move his fingers but it seemed that everything from his wrist down had frozen.

“H-hey, Mr. Stark?”

“Yep?”

“I think the, uh, the metal’s locked up.”

“What?”

Peter held out his hand, still stiff and stuck in place. “I don’t know. The metal locked up, on the suit.”

Peter saw a flash of confusion in Tony’s eyes, and then watched as it was quickly masked. “What do you mean?” His voice was sharp.

“I— I can’t move my fingers.” Peter tried again, unfruitful. He was only wearing the arm section, just for these trials, but it seemed the entire thing had jammed.

“That’s... not supposed to happen.” Tony bit his lip, lost in concentration. “Lemme see it.”

Peter lifted up his arm, and Tony ran his fingers up and down the hard metal. He flicked a button near his wrist, but nothing happened. The light didn’t even turn on.

“Shit,” he heard Tony mutter under his breath. “Hold on a second.”

“Where are you going?”

“My lab. I’ll be back in a second, promise. I can relax the micro-plates, but not with these pliers.” Tony said, holding them up. 

Peter nodded, and then when he looked back down at his arm Tony was already hurrying away. 

He swallowed, attempting to twist it around again, just get any amount of movement inside the metal, but since the glove was perfectly form-fitted to his hand, it was just stuck.

This is what being paralyzed feels like, he thought, uneasy. Trying to move but just not being able to.

“No, not paralyzed,” Peter muttered. “Not paralyzed.”

_Trapped_. He glanced up at the sky, finding himself half-expecting to see crumbling buildings and choking dust rising up around him. But instead he found just the massive, pale gray sky of upstate new york. 

He shook his head and shut his eyes. Not paralyzed.

His breath caught in his throat, numbly staring down at his hand again. Trapped, under ten tons of concrete and _metal_. Enclosing his arm, completely and utterly out of his control. 

He gasped, stumbling backwards. He shook out his hand again, heart beginning to hammer in his chest. 

His back hit the compound wall, sending shockwaves up his spine. He spun around, the metal of the glove scraping the concrete, making a sound far too loud, that rang in his ears, as if it were multiplied by a thousand. His eyes shot up, again expecting dust and crashing concrete to crumble from the sky above him. His heart rattled behind his ribs, and his breaths only grew shallower.

He couldn’t move a muscle from his elbow down. He tried again but it only sent sparks shooting through his veins, because _he should be able to move_ , but in his hazy, panic-induced mind, it was all just too much to handle.

Desperately, he tried to pull off the glove— it didn’t budge. It was like he was trapped all over again.

He swallowed thickly in between shuddering gasps of air. He though that he might pass out, so he lifted his other hand up to feel his pulse. With every movement, he was reminded of how helpless he felt.

Soon he was aware of Tony opening the sliding doors to the compound; he was holding something, and walking quickly. Peter tried to pull himself together; he couldn’t break down like this around Tony Stark. He couldn’t.

“Kid? What’d going on?” Tony’s voice was sharp.

Peter opened his mouth, still helplessly pulling at the glove, but no words came out. 

“Hey! Hey. Talk to me, here.” Tony set the tool down on the table, and then reached out to touch Peter’s shoulder.

He recoiled from the touch, shooting back. His movements were quick and frantic, and his eyes were blown wide open. He struggled for breath, but held himself in place. 

“Jesus, Peter,” Tony muttered.

“Get it off,” Peter choked, finally finding his voice. “Please, Mr. Stark, get it off.”

“Okay. I’m gonna get it off.” Tony spoke slowly, in a language Peter’s ears could understand. “Look at me, kid. I’m gonna get it off, just quit moving.”

But the longer Peter stood still, the more panic built up. He was confused, too, because something like this has never happened before. He was never _not_ in control of his mind, of his thoughts, and his body itself. It was like he was spun off his axis. 

“I can’t,” Peter breathed, trembling and pressing his back against the wall. The pressure was better than nothing. “Please, Mr. Stark, help me.”

Peter felt hot. His whole body felt hot, white-hot sparks shooting up and down his spine and wrist. He thought he might’ve been going numb. 

Peter’s neck twisted up again, towards the sky, and Tony narrowed his eyes. He followed Peter’s gaze, then dropped back down to him. 

“What are you looking at?” Tony asked, glancing up once again.

“The building— it’s falling,” Peter gasped. “It’s— We— I’m trapped.”

“Okay. Yeah, _no,_ ” Tony said, somewhat confused but keeping his voice steady. “The building’s not falling. We’re good. You see that? Up there? Yeah, nothing. We’re _good_.”

Peter’s breath caught in his throat again, and he let a sob escape his lips. With his good hand he reached up to claw at the collar of his sweatshirt, as if it had suddenly turned into fire. “Just get it off,” he choked. 

“I am. I am. I just need you to relax for a minute.”

Peter wanted to shout, yell at Tony that he _couldn’t relax._ He kept thrashing, and metal scraped concrete as he dragged it across the wall again. He pulled away when Tony tried to reach for the glove.

“Don’t touch me,” Peter choked. His eyes were blown wide open.

“You’ve gotta stop moving, Pete,” Tony said, and Peter could hear a trace of desperation. “You were almost there. I can’t get it off if you don’t stop moving.”

Peter pulled together all the strength he could muster, took a deep, trembling breath and pressed his back flat up against the wall. _Stay still,_ he shouted at himself. He forced his good arm to lay flat against the wall as well.

“Okay. Alright. Peter, look at me. I need you to look at me. Can you do that?”

Peter nodded unevenly, inhaling sharply and forcing his eyes to focus on Tony’s face. It was gentle, but firm. 

“Okay. Good. Just keep on looking at me.” Tony reached out a hand, gingerly resting it on Peter’s shoulder. He was just testing the waters, and this time when Peter didn’t shrink from the touch, he lifted the other one up, too. “Look, see? You’re doing okay. It’s going to be okay, I promise.” 

Peter nodded again, eyes darting down towards the metal contraption in Tony was holding. He watched as he reached for his hand, then pushed the apparatus unto one of the ports on the glove. With a spark of electricity, the micro-plates relaxed, and Tony quickly slid the glove off. 

Peter let out a breath and fell backwards against the wall again, arm falling to his side. He didn’t even bother to move it at all; exhaustion was already starting to settle.

Tony sat back, too, setting down the device and rolling back onto his heels. 

Peter could feel Tony’s sad eyes, burning into his skin. He exhaled slowly, hating how it still trembled, yet he just didn’t have it in him to care. 

“Alright,” Tony murmured after a while, standing up. “You okay now?”

“Hm?” came the croaked response. He glanced up at Tony, and there was something in his mentor’s eyes he couldn’t put his finger on. It wasn’t fear or sadness, but something worse.

“Shake it off, kid,” Tony said.

“Shake what off?” Peter grumbled, running a sleeve across his face. “What even was that? I, like, freaked out. Over nothing.”

He saw Tony’s expression soften for a moment. 

“Was that the first time that’s happened?” he asked, eyes moving back to the holographic screen that popped up to his right. He moved something on he screen, but Peter could tell was more of a nervous habit than anything productive. 

“I... I think so?” Peter felt drained, and it showed.

Tony hesitated. He held the glove, glancing back down at it. 

“You know what? Let’s call it a day.” He sighed, putting it away in the case. He packet up the rest of his tools, and the other shooter prototypes, and started to head towards the door.

Peter felt miserable. “I’m sorry,” he told Tony, guilty. “I— I know you had a bunch more—“

“Nope,” Tony interrupted, stopping in his tracks, He didn’t look at Peter, but he didn’t move. “You’re not allowed to say that.”

“Say what?”

“Say that you’re sorry. That’s not allowed. You  
understand?”

“I— what?”

Tony looked at him finally, but his eyes looked sort of exhausted. Peter shut his mouth. 

“You don’t need to say sorry for... for that. I get it, I promise you. I’ve been there.” Tony’s voice was low. “You don’t need to do that with me.”

Peter just nodded, for some reason unwilling to respond with words. It was something in Tony’s eyes, how sad they looked, or how he suddenly spoke like he’s lived a thousand lives.

They made it back to Peter’s room, in the compound, in complete silence. It wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t entirely comfortable, either. Peter knew that Tony had a hundred questions, all of which Peter wouldn’t even know how to begin to answer. 

To be honest, Peter had no idea what had happened to him out there; it was as if one moment he was okay and composed, and the next he was filled with some sort of sharp, crashing fear that he just couldn’t shake. And the worst part was that nothing really caused it. Yes, his hand was stuck, but that was just a mechanical error. He should’ve been able to last the five minutes that Tony was down in his lab.

He just didn’t understand it.

“Um... dinner is in 15,” Tony told him, after he placed the case, with the suit tucked inside, into its spot on the closet. “Ravioli, or something. Pepper’s finest.”

“Okay.”

Tony hesitated, and Peter could tell he was searching for words. His eyes drifted to the big window, that was letting in a gentle gray light, and then back at Peter. He didn’t look at his face.

It seemed that Tony was about to say something, but changed his mind at the last second. Peter noticed that was happening a lot these days.

“See ya downstairs, kid.”

The dinner was okay— the food was great, but Peter still couldn’t entirely understand Tony’s hesitation.

Pepper tried to intervene, and get some conversation going, but after a while she understood that whatever happened, she wouldn’t be able to force it out of them. Tony would come to her on his own terms, and no sooner. She sighed, picking up her empty plate and utensils.

“I have a meeting in 30 minutes,” she said. Tony looked up.

“Really? This late?”

She shrugged. “It’s noon in China.”

“Oh.” 

“I’ll be in my office if you need me,” she murmured. He only nodded.

“Thank you for the food, Ms. Potts,” Peter said quietly. She flashed a quick, tight smile, and moved into the kitchen.

“Love you,” said Tony softly. It wasn’t his normal voice. It was his natural voice, quiet and gentle and saved for only for those he loved the most. 

They heard Pepper stop, and then a quiet, “I love you, too, Tony,” back. 

—

The more Peter thought about it, the less sense it made. He didn’t understand why this was happening to him. He still felt a flutter of fear when he remembered that feeling of hopelessness from before. He set his fork down, staring into his plate as if maybe the answer would pop up there, instead. 

“What’s on your mind, kid?”

Peter’s head shot up. Tony was staring at him, watching him carefully, with those sad, quiet eyes, and some sort of regret in their depths that Peter couldn’t quite put his finger on. 

Peter hesitated. He didn’t like this, the strange type of loneliness he felt, seeing Tony like this. He just didn’t know why. 

Maybe it was because ever since he was young, he’d always seen Tony Stark as this powerful figure, unstoppable in his time. Which was essentially true; he knew that if Tony wanted something, he would get it. But now there was something else that Peter could see, now that he knew Tony better. Because times have changed. 

He’d seen Tony when he thought nobody was watching him. He’d seen the way he blamed himself for anything and everything, or the way he stared into the dark New York night, like maybe he actually wanted the darkness to swallow him up for good. 

Peter had changed, too, though. 

Times have just changed.

When Peter didn’t respond, Tony sighed.

“That’s called a panic attack,” he murmured. “What happened earlier.”

Peter blinked, a spark of fear shooting up his spine again as he remembered the desperate feeling of helplessness. 

“Oh,” he croaked. Peter had heard about panic attacks, and he vaguely understood what they were, but he never really thought that it would happen to him. It was a strange revelation, to know that he wasn’t immune to those kinds of things. It didn’t make him feel weak, but it made him feel exposed, almost like a nerve.

“I...” Tony swallowed. “How are you doing?”

“Okay.”

“You can tell me the truth.”

“I just feel _okay_ ,” he shrugged. 

“Okay,” Tony echoed. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but Peter knew better than to push it. 

They sat there at the dining table in silence for a while, and then Peter saw Tony shift. 

“Can you promise me something?” Tony’s voice sounded almost scared for a moment. He waited until Peter’s eyes met his. “You... you never blame yourself. For anything you feel, or for anything that happens. You don’t blame yourself.”

“Don’t blame myself,” echoed Peter.

“Yep. It’s not your fault, you gotta understand that.”

_It’s not your fault,_ A voice in Peter’s head spoke to him. _Don’t blame yourself._

But he had to, right? Because it’s all in his head anyways, and it’s his problem if he got himself into those kinds of traumatic situations in the first place. Anything that happened to him was his own fault.

Peter swallowed. His ears rang. “Big words, coming from the great Tony Stark.”

Tony looked taken aback for a moment, then he blinked and his eyes narrowed. 

“What did you just say to me?”

“I don’t know,” Peter sighed. “Isn’t that a little hypocritical? You know, you just... you say that, but I know you really blame yourself for all of this.”

“All of what?”

“Everything.” Peter found it strange, because normally somebody talking to him in that tone would scare him, let alone Tony Stark. But this time he didn’t care; he just felt kind of tired. “Sokovia, Germany... all of it.”

Tony’s expression was guarded, and he opened his mouth to say something but then quickly shut it again. So then there was silence, and Peter found himself having to tear his eyes away.

“I’m going upstairs,” Tony muttered finally, so quiet that Peter had to strain to hear it. 

And then that was it. 

—

Peter couldn’t fall asleep. His mind raced, and he wasn’t entirely sure why, because he  
_felt_ exhausted, but something wouldn’t let him sleep.

He found himself calling May, even though it was far too late for any kind of comprehensible conversation. He just wanted to hear her voice— hear something that sounds like home.

Because here and now, at the Stark tower, things felt foreign. It felt like nothing was going to be okay, approaching that strange feeling of hopelessness again that made him want to start crying. 

The phone rang once, then twice, and than a tired-sounding aunt May picked up the line. 

—

Tony wandered the halls and his office in the Stark Suite for a while, unable to sleep but keeping his mind occupied— with work, and with ideas, and then with alcohol. 

He’d sat at his desk for hours, picking apart a glove prototype like the one Peter had worn today. It was a simple mechanical error, that the immediate platelet-relax port had been jammed, but he still felt guilty. This was his machine, after all.

He should’ve programmed each mini-section to work individually, instead of the electrical systems being linked together. That’s the safest thing to do. 

But once his brain grew too tired for any of that sort of critical thinking, he found himself making his way back up to Pepper’s office. It was late; he didn’t even dare look at the clock.

He knocked on the door twice, forehead leaning against the cool paint on the wall.

“Tony? Is that you?” Pepper’s voice was gentle. Like angels, Tony thought. 

“Mhm.”

“You can come in.”

He pushed open the door, then stood in the doorway. She was beautiful, he thought. With the glow of the screen and dim lights, and everything. It almost broke his heart.

“Is something wrong?” she murmured.

He tried to fight it, and bit his lip until it hurt. 

“I don’t know,” he whispered. His heart hurt, and he tried not to think about why. That’s what he’d been doing for the past few hours— doing his best to push it all down. The alcohol took the edge off, sure, but he didn’t really have enough to get drunk, and even if he had, he’d had plenty of practice masking it to make sure nobody else knew.

“What happened?” It sounded so soft, and so gentle. “With Peter. What happened?”

He leaned against the doorframe, and his eyes never left hers, almost like he was searching for something in their quiet depths.

“I— nothing. I don’t know, not yet.” he trailed off, rubbing his face with the palms of his hands. “I don’t know.”

She stood up, and moved over to him. “You should go to bed, then.”

“So should you.”

She smiled, small and with a hint of concern. 

—

But he sat awake in their bed— Tony wasn’t entirely sure if Pepper was asleep but he didn’t want to roll over to find out. So he watched through the big window at the stars above, that he couldn’t see when he was in the city. He swallowed, shutting his eyes tightly, as if that would somehow stave off the imminent crash. 

Peter Parker was scaring him. As Tony blinked and stared out at the New York night, he realized that Peter Parker was scaring him. 

It was a jarring wake-up call, like something in his unconscious had been awakened, and now it all seemed too obvious.

_Big words, coming from the great Tony Stark._

His whole life, he’d been destroying lives. Maybe not directly, but in some way, shape, or form, he had. 

When he was young, he took over SI and continued to build missiles, effectively making him the world’s youngest and richest war profiteer— and even after he’d stopped that, he knew his tech was still out there. And then came the Avengers Initiative, and New York and Sokovia and the war against Captain America. He remembered Vision’s words that one morning all that time ago. 

_Our very strength incites challenge. Challenge incites conflict, and conflict... breeds catastrophe._

It was countless lives, lost or shattered because Tony Stark continued to exist on this earth. And that was the ongoing nightmare he’d had to live in, mostly because he didn’t have it in himself to give up and give in entirely. 

But now there was Peter Parker, this spider-kid from Queens who wasn’t even old enough to drive yet, let alone fight for his life against the other half of the avengers. Tony had dragged him into his world without a second thought. And then somehow this kid grew on him, more and more until one day he woke to find that Peter was almost like his own child. The son he never really had.

Only now was Tony thinking that maybe all of it was a mistake. Maybe Peter Parker would’ve been better off never meeting Tony in the first place. It stung, that kind of self doubt, and Tony swallowed against the lump in his throat.

His breath must’ve caught because Pepper rolled over, eyes blinking up to Tony’s.

“What’s wrong?” she murmured, sleepy.

He wanted to tell her but he didn’t have to words to respond yet, and even if he did he didn’t think he’d be able to say them. So he just shook his head, heart fluttering in his chest. 

“You’re upset.” 

He didn’t know how she did it, how she kept her voice so gentle. He wanted to melt into the sound and live there forever.

“I’m afraid,” he whispered. “I’m afraid that I’ve destroyed Peter Parker.”

Pepper sat up. “What? Is he hurt?”

“What? No, I didn’t injure him,” he scoffed weakly. “I just... he’s just a kid. He’s not even out of high school yet.”

“And?”

“He had a panic attack today,” Tony whispered. “Almost like the ones I used to get.”

Pepper was silent for a moment. 

“What happened?”

Something in her voice was able to ground him, enough to where he felt he had his head screwed in right for once. He was able to keep his voice steadier.

“One of the cylinders misfired in the shooters. Locked up the whole micro-plate mini section.” Tony sighed. “His whole arm was frozen.”

“Oh.”

“It was only for a few minutes, though. And that’s not the worst part,” he murmured. “I told him to not blame himself, you know, for the attack, and he spun it onto me.”

“What do you mean?” Pepper asked. 

“He said that I blame myself for everything.”

Pepper hesitated. “Do you think he’s wrong?”

“Shit, I don’t know.” Tony faltered, swallowing. “A lot of bad things are my fault. This isn’t breaking news.”

Pepper sighed. “So why are you angry at him?”

“I’m not angry at him.”

“You’re not?”

“No, I’m— I’m _scared_ for him.” He hated how his voice shook. “He’s just a kid, Pepper. He doesn’t deserve the kind of life I’ve dragged him into.”

Tony was pressed up against her, and she could feel the way his body shook— not trembling, but more like a subtle vibrating. 

“Tony,” she said softly. “You need to take a deep breath. Remember?”

He paused for a moment, glancing down at his hands. They shook.

He took a shuddering breath, shutting his eyes tight. Everything was silent except for the sound of Pepper’s breathing and the gentle thrumming of blood in his ears. But it was her touch, and her warmth as she pressed up against him, that he focused on, that he let pull him back down to earth.

“Listen to me, baby,” she murmured. “Peter Parker will be okay. Maybe you’ll just have to guide him a little bit further, but he’ll be okay.”

—

Tony called May that morning. He never wanted to keep anything from her.

“Ms. Parker?” he murmured, as he sipped his coffee at the glass table by the window. 

“Hello?”

“Yeah, it’s Tony.”

“I know. I have your number saved.”

“Right.” He shifted, swirling his coffee in his mug as he held the phone up to his ear. “I just— I just want to let you know about something.”

“Yeah? Is something wrong?”

“Kind of?” He said, voice slightly strained.

“What is it? Peter called me last night, and he sounded odd. Is he okay?”

“Um, not sure,” murmured Tony. “What did he say?”

“Nothing specific,” she sighed. “it was just late. That’s all. What is it?”

“No, you’re right. Something is wrong.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Peter— has he, um, has he ever had an anxiety attack?”

The other line was quiet, and for a moment he was worried the call had been cut. 

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Well, now you’re aware.”

“What— what happened?”

He continued to explain it, repeating that it wasn’t much but it was enough to raise some red flag, however small. 

“He’s okay now?” May’s voice was filled with sharp concern.

“Yeah. He’s asleep.” Peter swallowed, watching his fingers trail about on the glass table. “May, I’m scared for him.”

“He’ll get through it,” May murmured. There was some sort of understanding in her voice, like she knew his worries, and about his own struggles, and she understood why Tony was nervous. “We can figure this out.”

“I know.” Tony but his cheek, not lifting his eyes from the glass. “Listen, I know he’s supposed to go home tomorrow, but if you want him earlier we can definitely—“

“Tony, I can’t,” she said. She sounded annoyed, but not at him. “They called me back into the hospital in an hour.”

“Oh.” Tony frowned. “In that case, I—“

“Just keep him,” she sighed. “I’ll swing by your place when my shift is done. Okay?”

“Yep. Sounds perfect.”

“One more thing,” she said quickly. “Thank you. For letting me know.”

“Yeah. No problem,” he said quietly.

“Bye.”

And then the line went dead. There it was again, the familiar lump in his throat. He set his phone down then stood up to put his mug in the sink. 

He froze, eyes shifting back to the doorframe. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Tony muttered. Peter kept his expression guarded, but Tony could tell he was nervous.

“What do you mean you’re scared for me?” he asked. His voice sounded so, so small.

“I’m not— I didn’t—“ Tony swallowed. “Listen. Just forget about that.”

“No,” Peter muttered. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Tony felt his heart break a little bit more. He didn’t know why at first, but he thought that maybe it was because in Peter Parker, Tony Stark saw a little bit of himself. Confused, young, and battling the same type of illness that was left only behind the eyes. 

Tony sat back down at one of the breakfast bar stools, and rested his chin in his hands, and elbows on the cold granite. “I’m sorry, kid,” he said weakly. “I know. I get it.”

“You get what?” Peter cried indignantly. “What do you get?”

“I understand what you’re feeling, Peter,” Tony said, voice hardly over a whisper. “I get it. I have PTSD. I have bad days, I have good days, I have nights where I can’t sleep at all. I just— I get it. That’s all.”

Peter went quiet.

Tony could see the wheels turning behind Peter’s eyes. He hated how shocked the kid looked. But then again, was it surprising?

Tony Stark knew he was powerful— one of the most powerful men in the western world. He knew he was some sort of picture of wealth and power to everybody else on the ground. He knew that. 

Throughout Peter’s life Tony’s been at the height of his fame. He’s been a hero for as long as this kid’s been aware of his surroundings, and now that kid is just learning that the superhero he once thought was invincible could suffer from something so invisible, yet so dangerous. 

“You?” was all Peter could muster.

“Yeah, me,” Tony said, keeping his voice calm. He needed to be the steady one here, for Peter. “I know. It’s just the price I get to pay.”

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed. He felt sick, and _scared_ , he realized, stomach turning. Nothing was making sense. Why Peter? Why Tony? Panic attacks, PTSD... they were all things that happen to other people, but never him. Never people close to him.

“So you think I have PTSD,” Peter whispered. He wanted to throw up, and his chest seemed to be closing in.

“I don’t know,” Tony admitted, swallowing. “Maybe, but we can’t focus on that. We can’t focus on the black and white, only on getting you back on your feet.”

Because that’s what Tony’s learned can actually help. Never focus on the diagnosis, or fitting into the boxes that doctors try to group you in, because that’s not what helps you. It’s the work that you, alone, put into yourself.

Peter could feel the sting of tears in his eyes, and he swallowed thickly, trying to blink it away.

“Hey, don’t do that,” Tony said. “It’s... it’s okay.”

Peter huffed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He didn’t respond, just pushed down the lump in the back of his throat and moved on. 

“Pete, I know you’re nervous,” Tony murmured. “I just want to know what’s on your mind, so we can stay on the same page, okay?”

“What do you mean?” came the quiet, strained response. 

“I mean,” Tony paused, thinking. “Tell me what’s been going through your head lately. Be honest.”

“My head?” Peter echoed, sniffling.

“Yeah, your... little noggin up there. Tell me what’s going on.” But Tony hesitated when he saw Peter’s confusion. “Only if you feel comfortable,” he corrected himself softly. “If you’d rather just tell the doctors, or... or May, or _not_ me, that’s okay. Promise. But I’m here if you want.”

Peter nodded, swallowing. He stepped through the doorway, and around the counter until he was sitting at the bar stool next to Tony. He let out a breath, so small and shaky that Tony could hardly hear it. 

“I always feel on-edge,” he started, voice quiet. “More than I think I should, at least.”

Tony nodded. “Go on, I’m listening.”

Peter blinked, eyes wide. Tony could see his hands shaking, and he hated it, because he knows that he’s been there before. He knows what it feels like, and it’s not pretty.

“Sometimes in class, my heart starts to pound, like, out of nowhere. I don’t think that’s normal.” Peter let out a sharp breath of air, like a laugh, but not quite. “Maybe I should have a doctor check that out. I read it’s a symptom of a weak heart.”

“Unlikely,” Tony murmured, lifting his eyes from his coffee to the window across the room. “Your, uh... your healing powers prevent that from happening.”

“Oh.”

“When you read about that, though,” Tony said, “Did you ever read that it could be a symptom of anxiety?”

“I don’t remember,” said Peter, shrugging. “Probably, but I never thought that was me.”

Tony could tell Peter was getting more settled in, and he felt a weight lift off his shoulders. Maybe things would be okay.

“That’s fair,” Tony said. “That’s—“

“Hey, Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah?”

“What about on your side? You said we gotta stay on the same page here.”

Tony stiffened. “I did.”

“So?”

“Kid, I don’t— I’m no good at that.”

“At what?”

Tony realized then, suddenly, that his own issues don’t matter anymore, not when he has somebody else to protect. Maybe it was the innocence in his voice, or the familiarity of it all, but Tony decided then that Peter Parker was so much more important than anything Tony could’ve come up with on his own. This was about Peter now, not Tony, and that’s how it will be moving forward.

“Never mind. Let’s stay on the same page, then, okay? You want to know what I’m thinking?” 

Peter nodded. 

“I was scared, Pete. You’re young, you’ve got our whole life ahead of you, and for a minute there I saw so much of myself in you that it scared me.”

But Peter only looked confused. “Mr. Stark—“

“I was nineteen when I took over Stark Industries,” Tony interrupted. “Nineteen. That’s too young for that much trauma, that much responsibility. That makes sense, right?”

Peter nodded.

“Right. How old are you, now? Almost Seventeen? Yeah.” Tony faltered for a moment. “Seventeen, Pete. You’re too young to even be driving on your own, yet I lead you into battle against a gang of supernatural war criminals. I feel like I dragged you into my world without a second thought.”

“No, Mr. Stark, I volunteered,” Peter said.

“Yeah, ‘cause _I_ asked,” said Tony. “I feel like I manipulated you. I feel like I did something I wasn’t supposed to.”

“Well, you didn’t—“

“No, _you_ can’t try and apologize to _me_ ,” Tony muttered. “That’s not right. God, none of this is right. Listen, kid, I’m sorry if I pulled you into my world with very little warning. I’m sorry if that.... consequently... could harm you in the future.” He trailed off. Peter stared silently, afraid to cut in. So he just let him talk.

Tony looked up, a kind of flat smile on his face. It wasn’t of happiness, but it held an air of confidence and decision. An idea had formed. “I wanna give us all a chance to make it right. Look, we’re gonna have a long talk, with May, and the both of us, and we’re gonna figure out of this is really working for you.” Tony took a deep breath. “We’re gonna take you to a doctor, see if we can catch you early, and patch you up before it gets any worse.” _Before you start to look more like me._

He looked down at Peter cautiously, afraid of the expression he might find. But instead, Peter just nodded. 

“Are you okay with that?” Tony asked quietly, even though he saw him agree. He just needed to be sure. “Be honest. Is everything here okay?”

“Yeah,” said Peter. “That’s alright.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark. It’s... It’s a good plan.”

Tony exhaled, then glanced at his watch. He stretched his neck, then got up to put his mug in the sink. 

Something in him didn’t feel as hopeless anymore. The sunlight shone through the big window on the other side of the room, peering through the clouds that still gathered above and danced on the marble countertop.

He didn’t feel as out of control anymore— no, he was _taking_ control. Taking the reigns. 

Peter Parker was going to be okay, and then in return, so was Tony Stark. It was one roadblock, but one they could make it through together.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. If u liked this please comment/kudos! I love hearing what you think. Also maybe go check out some of my other marvel stuff too!!


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